Into Battle
by Vaydric
Summary: JeanMarco/ Marco convinces Jean to have their wedding in Canada with the Bott clan, which means that Jean's family has to meet Marcos. It doesn't help that the Botts are Jewish and Jean's nan swears like a sailor, and that Marco has 7 siblings.


_**First Wave**_

"You can't exactly say that it doesn't make sense," Eren's groggy yet truthful voice boomed down the line. What he said was, unfortunately, something Jean had to admit also. Marco was a smart man, there was no denying that, but Jean was unbelieving of Marco's practicality and maturity when he suggested _it _the day earlier, and the messy, unwashed state of his hair was evidence of this. Which is why he's on the phone to Eren.

"But he has _so many _brothers and he's the short one," he heard Eren's sceptical grunt through the static. "I can't be dealing with it. What if his sisters are hot?"

"You're already engaged, it's too late. Besides, you're gonna' be like… nine foot shorter than them or something, they'll look at you like a Chihuahua."

"I'm not even fucking joking, he has like seven of them and he told me the other day that his uncle has a gun collection- and- and you know my gran she'll probably offend someone or walk around naked-"

"I literally see nothing wrong with what you're saying."

"Eren," Jean paused only to catch his breath. The coffee machine across he and Marco's kitchen beeped its six am alarm and began brewing, which alerted Jean to the fact he hadn't slept yet. "No, this is bad, Marco's gonna' be awake in like an hour and then he'll want to talk about it can you put Levi on the phone right now!"

"Why the fuck would you want to speak to him?"

"I need to call him a fag so he'll come over here and kill me-"

"Did you just drop the f-bomb at six-o-two in the morning?"

Jean froze where he stood as voice that was not from the phone spoke, slightly hunched over the kitchen island with his hand frozen solid against the cold black marble sideboard. He heard the faint twittering of birds outside the window, and the rustling of Marco's pyjamas as he shuffled around the kitchen and wiped his eyes.

"Is that the lovely wifey awake now?" Eren sang down the phone, significantly more awake. "And also, what I want to know is, is Marco gonna' be Kirschtein or are you gonna' be Polo?"

* * *

**Voicemail one: Thursday February. 21****st**** / 15:09**

The echo of the telephone's voicemail beep was loud in the silent apartment. "Sweetie?" A woman's calm, high-pitched and distinctly French accented voice spoke. "Marco darling, I need you to call me back before you leave so I know what time you'll get here, do you want dinner? Oh, why am I asking your machine," There was the sound of a struggle, "No, James you-"

A deep and thick male tone of voice spoke this time in French: "Ay Marco, you gonna' bring that little bonbon eh?"

* * *

"Put your bag in the car, Jean."

"No. You can't make me." The next day found Jean and Marco stood on the ground floor of their building, Marco loading his bags into the car. Jean threw his bag back through the apartment complex's front door, willing it with his eyes to fly back into his flat. "I refuse." He tugged his coat collar up in an attempt to look intimidating, but his bright orange scarf only made him look childish.

Marco crossed his arms and stamped his foot. "Jean I will call your mother."

"You think she can make me do anything?" he picked up his bag anyway. Jean dragged his feet and his bag to Marco's Volvo, almost completely combusting with how angry and red his face was. He could feel heat everywhere with embarrassment, fury, and the most obvious: fear. He threw his duffel into the car boot, slammed the lid, and proceeded to have the biggest tantrum of his life since his Mum made him move schools when he was seven.

* * *

**Voicemail two: Thursday February. 21****st**** / 15:16**

"Marco my little sugar-pie, your brother wants to know if you can bring your PlayStation?" the noise of a hearty belch resonated across the room over the speakers. "Oh my goodness I just burped down the speaker I can't believe that just happened I'm so- Luka! Luka cherub, how do I re-record this, is it the red button-" the recording was cut unexpectedly.

* * *

Jean enjoyed the drive to his mother's house. It gave him the chance to look out onto the cold tarmac of New York one last time before he was shot by Marco's granddad, or more likely Marco's older brothers. He watched the bare trees sway in the wind and collect the dustings of afternoon snow falling down, and beside him Marco hummed gently to The Who. As they approached his old house, hidden deep within the bowels of Kensington, Buffalo; Jean began to feel aggravating apprehension in his gut. It made him sweat.

"You wanna' run in and get them? I'll keep the car warm for you."

Jean grunted as his reply, climbing out of the car and crossing the road without looking. As he climbed the stairs to his old front door, he noticed that his mother's well-kept plants had died. He knocked hard three times, eyes still transfixed on the wilted leaves of an evergreen shrub.

The door swung violently on it hinges inwards, and his gran ran into his (closed) arms. He caught her only in the last moment. His gran is a short, angry looking woman with a tendency to antagonise her neighbours by stealing their washing when they hang it on the line. She has only lived with Jean's mother for a month, but Jean can see the mess in the hallway of his old house from the doorway.

"Jeanbo let's go!" his mother sings excitedly, dancing and spinning past him with two heavy-looking bags on wheels behind her. Marco hops out of the car (Jean notes that he leaves the door open and by no means has kept the car warm), helping her load the bags into the trunk.

* * *

**Voicemail three: Thursday February. 21****st**** / 15:18**

A teen voice speaks. "Marco, can you bring your PlayStation? Mum's laughing or something she needed me to call." There's the sound of coughing behind the loud, deliberate exhale of the speaker. "Now she's choking. I'll see you later."

* * *

Jean hated everything. Everything. He hated the birds flying over Marco's nice car, he hated the road signs as they started naming the exact area that he was heading for the closer they got. He hated the snow on the roads and the way his Mum was beaming in the back seat, and the way the bags in the trunk would hit each other over each road bump. He hated his gran especially for talking the whole way. He hated the radio for playing Mcfly and letting his fiancée happily sing along and make him stop hating everything, but most of all; he hated Canada.

Canada wasn't even real as far as he was concerned. It was just the part above America that wasn't America. It was the weird place that sold reusable bags and helped the environment and had nice roads and had equal rights and let him marry his lover. But he still hated it, despite this, because all that it boiled down to was the Botts.

He hated it because it was overpopulated with Botts.

"Look at little Jeanbo going red." His Gran said. He scowled. "So, are you excited? Who smashes the first glass?"

"We're not doing it Jewish Granny," Jean corrected, "Marco's mum reckons' it's not a good idea to have a homo Jewish wedding and shit. Besides, we aren't even Jewish."

"Is she not tolerant?" His mother said calmly, and in moments like this Jean can see why his mother and Marco were so close. Marco was quick in response. If Jean didn't know any better (he didn't) he would say that the comment ruffled Marco's feathers.

"She is, but it's not something that the family has ever done before, so she didn't want to upset my old folks and stuff, you know 'Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain' and all. Yeah."

_"What a load of shit." _Jean's Gran provided.

"Um, also," Marco's hands shifted on the wheel away from two and ten, "You can't really, um, swear. Like at all."

"My shitting lord almighty are you serious? Cunt and shit Jean, help your old lady out of this car I'm walking the fuck back to the USA right now."

"Gran you can't say cunt you're seventy-eight!"

* * *

**Voicemail three: Thursday February. 21****st**** / 15:58**

"Marcy my little milk bag, I made tomato and beef stew and some of that olive bread I saw Nigella make, does Jean like olives? I hope he does, I didn't exactly hold back, since your father likes things like that. Well, he likes grapes, but they're the same sort of thing right? It doesn't matter. Felix, don't laugh at me! Come over here and talk you your brother! He's ran away. Does Jean like peas? Oh, who doesn't? Also, do you need a lift to the airport on the twenty-seventh or can your uncle carpool with Grandpapy here on the day? Hold on, there's someone at the door. Come in!"

* * *

The house was everything that Jean thought it would be. They parked into a long gravel driveway, leading to a classic Victorian two story, with white panelling and a blue door. There was even a porch with a swing, and matching shutters on each window. He admired the vast array of trees growing across the expanse of the garden, and a tall, drooping willow tree in the centre. As they rounded the tree, Jean saw the collection of cars parked, counting four and a Harley.

Marco was bouncing next to him, and his gran was singing, so his nerves were spiking. His mother reached forward to stroke gently at his shoulder, but he shrugged her off.

"Ok, quick little thing," Marco said, smoothly gliding over the gravel like he had been doing it every day for the year, and not frequenting the soft tarmac of New York. "There's me, my older brothers Paul, Gabriel-" Jean snorted, "Don't laugh, he'll hit you. Yeah, and Luka and Noah-" Jean's Gran cursed behind them in either admiration or dread, "Um, so there's us five, and then there's Felix, he's sixteen."

Jean went to speak, but Marco interrupted.

"Then there's Tristan and Agnes, the twins, both eleven."

"Shit, and you're all planned?"

"Uh… Julia," Marco addressed Jean's Gran by name. "You need to stop… cursing."

"I'll monitor her for you," Jean's mother offered.

"Cool. Let's go." Jean said, moving to undo his seatbelt even though Marco had not yet parked the car.

"There's also-"

"Shit, more?"

"Mum, Marco asked you to stop cursing," Claire scolded the elderly woman. Marco parked next to a nice looking BMW and thanked her with a nod, turning in the driver's seat after cutting the engine.

"No, my uncle James and his wife Emma, they have a daughter Jessy, she's ten. And my Grandpapy, he's Sixty-four, and he's pretty… um… well, you'll see. He's coming tomorrow."

Jean could hear people talking behind the door, ever so faintly. _"__Felix, don't laugh at me! Come over here and talk you your brother!" _it sounded like a whisper, which made Jean question how thick the walls were if the women on the other side of the door was obviously shouting. He smirked, dragging his mum's bag behind him to push down the retractable handle._ "He's ran away. Does Jean like peas? Oh, who doesn't? Also, do you need a lift to the airport on the twenty-seventh or can your ubcle carpool with Grandpapy here on the day?" _Marco ran up behind him and pressed a lingering kiss to the side of his cheek. Jean thought he was being supportive, but when he looked up into his partner's eyes, he didn't see anything other than cruel mischief. "Into the battle field?" Marco said, knocking several times in quick succession.

"Fuck me," Julia breathed her final curse._ "Hold on, there's someone at the door. Come in!"_

The door swung open, and Jean watched a man who must have been a three-hundred metre tall replica of Marco scoop up his fiancée and spin him around. There was a kid, who looked exactly the same again, who hooked his arms around Marco's neck from behind and was spun around also; and there was a German Shepard that ran free from the house and straight towards the parked car like an idiot.

"My little crème de la crème!" the larger Marco shouted, finally allowing normal-sized Marco to land once more on the ground. The dog had rounded on itself and ran into Jean's leg on the way back to the normal Marco, causing him to let out a shout. Two sets of brown eyes landed on him, while the eyes of his lover seemed to be too occupied on a mongrel to notice his distress. "Oh what a tiny little bonbon!"

"What did they just call you Jeanbo?"

"Jeanbo, ay!" the man announced, throwing his arms in the air before wrapping them around Jean's waist and spinning him too. However, instead of the mini-Marco joining in, Jean felt a feminine pair of hands slow his spinning body. He heard a slap. "Ouch!"

"James, let the poor child down."

James, the Godzilla, looked down at Jean when he put him back onto the ground. Jean felt a rush of cold Canadian air push him when the bear hug was ended. The Godzilla approached Jean's mother, and Jean felt a rush of protective instinct fall upon him.

"Madame," James said, and Jean gagged behind the pair as Godzilla lifted him mother's hand to his lips. "I would give you the same treatment… but I was told to never be rough with a lady."

"This is Claire, my daughter," Julia offered in a very civil manner (for a woman who dropped the _c-word_ casually in conversation) when Jean's mother was unable to speak.

Jean felt the delicate hands on his back again, and turned to meet the eyes of a woman who could only be Marco's mother. She looked less like him than he thought she would, but she had a light dusting of freckles along her nose. "Let's all get inside now, shall we? We'll all freeze to death."

As soon as the guests were led through the entrance, Jean felt eyes on him. He didn't react immediately, looking around to admire the open lounge and dining room with a long mahogany dining table as its centrepiece. He saw an archway that he presumed was the kitchen.

"Nice," a female voice said in the silence of the open room. A door shut behind Jean, and his Grandmother came to stand next to him. She braced a hand on his shoulder, despite being a foot shorter than him.

"Let me introduce you!" Marco offered, looking like he was about to piss himself with excitement. He stood in front of Jean and the women in his life, like he was stood on a stage.

James spoke loud, standing second tallest in the room to one of Marco's brothers. "Let's do age order, eh? Emma get out here!"

There was an uncoordinated shuffle and no small amount of shoving, a few people joining from the kitchen.

Marco stood happily in the middle, his hand stroking absently at the dog nestled between his legs, his smile echoed by every other face in the line. "Ok," he began, and Jean felt his mother come around to hold his other shoulder. "So, on the end!"

"I'm James, the coolest uncle-" one of the boys who had been involved in the spinning hug of death outside, nearest the middle, interrupted.

"The _only _uncle."

"Yeah which only helps my case. This is my cracking lady, Emma."

"Hi."

"And our angel Jessy down the end," the little girl, hair a lighter shade than her cousins', waved.

Emma's hair was blonde, and she looked almost alien in that room. Her husband stood significantly higher than her, his teeth a shocking white against his tanned skin. He had more freckles than Marco did. Jean guessed that the Bott's physical traits must come heavily from the father's side.

"Is it me?" Marco's mother asked, looking around and then down the line at several nodding heads. "Oh, right. Well, call me Chloe, these are my little cherubs," she gestured to the line, and then to the dog. "This is my husband's dog, Titan."

The older brothers were a blur of (slightly sexy) tall and freckled Marcos, Paul being the eldest and tallest one in the room. Marco waved but resisted the temptation to introduce himself. Then the youngest boy Felix announced himself, and the twin girls giggled their names, before a room of Botts looked expectantly towards the three little Kirschteins.

"I'll go," Jean's grandmother said, taking a step forwards and straightening her slight hunchback. "I'm Julia and I just have one small question?"

"Go ahead," Chloe said, and she was too busy smiling and blushing to see Marco waving his arms in warning-

"How do you feel about me saying crap or ass? Is are those curses? Lord knows I could go worse."

She was met with silence, other than the sound of Jean slapping his hand onto his face.

"What about piss?"

* * *

Marco took Jean up to his old bedroom for some _alone time _soon after crap, ass and piss had been allowed by the Bott clan. Jean threw his bag onto Marco's old single bed, noticing that there was another in the corner of the room that still looked like it was in use (but there were eight children, he could understand sharing rooms), and admired the vast array of hockey team flags and posters across the room. "Like a true Canadian," he said.

Marco came up behind him, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist, pressing his nose into Jean's shoulder and inhaling.

"What do you think?"

"There's way too many of you, for a start."

"Yeah, well Mum was a lonely kid so."

"And that tall one's pretty hot."

"What? Naoh? He got all the girls in high school."

"No the one next to Emma,"

"James?"

"No, I think Paul?"

"Oh, he's the oldest one."

"Yeah, he looks like you but with more thigh,"

"He's thirty-two and married, sorry babe."

"That's your only protest?"

Marco laughed and kissed the hollow of Jean's throat. "Hey," he said, spinning Jean in his arms to face him and kissing quickly at his forehead. "Who gets to top on the wedding night?"

"Hmm…" Jean meant for the sound to be a serious noise of consideration, but Marco pressed their lips together and it muffles the sound into a moan. They kiss gently for a few moments, savouring the gentle touch of their lips that they have been without for the day, and just as Jean opens his mouth to deepen it, there's a yell from the hallway and the sound of the front door slamming. Jean jumps with every excited bark from Titan, and stills suddenly against Marco when he hears who can only be the dog's owner.

"Guess whose home early! Where's my new son-in-law!"

Julia could be heard from the bedroom. "Piss and crap, who is this hot piece of ass!"

* * *

**Note: **

it moves a lot faster than i hoped it would but i dont want it to be long and hard to read, so it can stay like this i guess

so basicly what i've done is created a shitton of OCs im sorry

Marco's siblings in order of age: Paul, Gabriel, Luka, Noah, (Marco), Felix, Tristan Agnes

Father: Nathan, Uncle: James, Uncles wife: Emma, Cousin: Jessy


End file.
